


hollow-point smile

by crownedcarl



Category: Haven (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fights, M/M, Pre-Canon, Prompt Fill, Teenage Drama, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:22:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23215462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crownedcarl/pseuds/crownedcarl
Summary: After a moment that lasts a lifetime, Duke plaintively asks "How do I fix it if I don't know what I did wrong?"
Relationships: Duke Crocker/Nathan Wuornos
Comments: 6
Kudos: 29





	hollow-point smile

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gendernoncompliant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gendernoncompliant/gifts).



> This is a prompt fill for [Ashe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gendernoncompliant/pseuds/gendernoncompliant), for the prompt: “you say you’ll stop, but then you keep doing it!”
> 
> This was a labor of love and one I did gladly. I hope you enjoy it. ❤ The title is from "Bulletproof Heart" by My Chemical Romance.
> 
> Check out my [other Haven fics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crownedcarl/pseuds/crownedcarl/works?fandom_id=9218791)!
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](https://dickardgansey.tumblr.com/), go ahead and prompt me!

Donna Carter's house has two floors. Nathan clings to the edges of the sink in the upstairs bathroom, staring at his own reflection, not liking what he sees looking back.

He's four drinks deep, vodka lingering on his lips, the taste stale behind his teeth. Nathan blinks, trying to clear his vision, making a clumsy attempt at smoothing his hair down as the music drifts in through the door, heavy base and rhythmic drumming mingling with teenage shouting and jeering, filling the spacious bathroom where Nathan tells himself he isn't hiding. Hiding would mean he had something to be ashamed of and he doesn't, because all he wants is a little peace and quiet from the rabble. He turns on the tap, the water rushing out violently, leaving the front of his shirt soaked as Nathan leans in and down, cupping a hand beneath the spray, head feeling a little less fuzzy when he gulps down one handful, then two.

Outside, someone pounds on the door, shouting "I gotta piss so bad," and rattling the doorknob until Nathan finishes wiping his hands on the fluffy towels set out for guests, wrenching the door open and stumbling past a kid he doesn't recognize to slump against the wall, taking deep breaths. His jeans are dirty from scuffling, the knees of them a little torn. Ashton should've kept his mouth shut, Nathan thinks, running his tongue across his bruised lower lip, pushing off the wall with his hands and trying to navigate his way downstairs without tripping, head ducked down to avoid the girls on the stairs who giggle and nudge each other, whispering something about _he and Crocker-_

Nathan escapes past them, practically clinging to the banister on his way down. A third of the way there, someone changes the music from upbeat pop to profanity-heavy rap and Nathan winces as the volume cranks up a little higher, speakers shrieking with feedback. He takes stock of the living room once he makes it there - couches overflowing with people, couples kissing in corners, someone trying to breakdance on the carpet. No sign of Duke. Nathan brushes shoulders with a girl mid-vomiting as he flees outside on to the back porch, taking a deep breath, letting the crisp autumn air fill his lungs, feeling too hot in his layers. Two girls are drunkenly giggling on the grass, not noticing or caring that Nathan is there to see their hands tangling, reaching up blouses and shirts.

There's bile in his throat. Nathan flops down on the patio furniture, dragging a blanket into his lap, morosely cradling the can of beer he'd snagged off the living room table on his way out. The music keeps blaring but it's quieter out here, beneath the stars. Nathan can close his eyes and think.

The patio door opens and closes quickly, footsteps drawing closer. Nathan hates that he recognizes those footsteps - hates that he knows the long shadow that approaches once he cracks his eyes open a fraction and he hates that he recognizes the expression on Duke's face when he crouches down, putting his hands on Nathan's bruised knees, and conversationally asks "You got your ass kicked, huh?"

An angry, bitter part of Nathan wants to tell Duke that he wouldn't have lost the fight if Duke hadn't made him so angry, but the part of him that's hurt mutters "None of your business," and kicks at Duke until he retreats, sitting cross-legged on the ground, fingers wrapped loosely around a cup that he's balancing on his right thigh. Nathan stubbornly looks away, letting the silence grow tense and awkward until Duke finally sighs, leaning back and searching Nathan's expression, his cheeks bright red from the cold, or drinking. Maybe both.

The bruises on Nathan's face don't hurt half as much as the distance between him and Duke does. The silence is a reminder of how little they have left to talk about, lately.

"We were supposed to be having fun," Duke mumbles, "What's got your panties in such a twist you had to pummel Ash?"

Duke had pitched the party as fun. It wouldn't really have mattered if Nathan thought so or not, because Duke has never invited Nathan to one of these things, before and Nathan had wanted so badly to fit in, to be another face in the crowd, that he'd accepted almost before Duke could finish the question. It's embarrassing, knowing he blew it. It's humiliating to be sitting there with grass stains and mud on his jeans, the left side of Nathan's face tender, his lower lip bruised from Ashton's precise right hook. Nathan shrugs in answer, not wanting Duke privy to all those things - let him sit there and wonder, Nathan thinks. Let him figure it out on his own.

"Nathan," Duke pushes, leaning forward with an elbow on his knee, "What did he do?"

There's a lump in Nathan's throat that wasn't there, before. He crosses his arms, drawing his feet up and tucking them beneath the blanket, giving Duke a flat glare that he actually flinches from, eyebrows going high in surprise when Nathan doesn't elaborate, as if Duke had gotten used to being privy to all of Nathan's secrets. He's not. He won't ever be privy to them again.

Duke's expression manages to be both annoyed and wounded and Nathan thinks it would be funny, putting that expression there, if it didn't make his stomach tie in knots. He's never been great at talking but he thought he could talk to Duke, thought that he was good at it, that maybe Duke wouldn't file away things Nathan said for future use against him, but he was wrong.

After a moment that lasts a lifetime, Duke plaintively asks "How do I fix it if I don't know what I did wrong?"

That, at least, warrants a response. Nathan pins Duke with a baffled look and says "You know what you did," and throws all caution to the wind when he hisses "You got drunk and you _told_ Colby and Colby told Ash-"

Duke gets drunk a lot, lately. Not with Nathan, but he gets drunk. He's been to a lot more parties this month than he attended all of last year. Nathan can't wrap his head around it, how Duke went from avoiding people to being the center of attention, always ready with another joke to crack, another party trick to pull out of his ass. Duke is drunk, right now, despite appearances. Nathan knows that Duke can talk his way out of anything, not stumbling or hesitating with his words when he's being asked tough questions, but Duke's eyes are glazed and his cheeks are red, lips slick with whatever it is he's been drinking before he switched to vodka. There's a purple tint clinging to Duke's mouth and when he shuffles a little closer, Nathan can smell whiskey, wondering where Duke managed to spill it on himself.

"What," Duke asks, eyebrows furrowing, "Did I tell Colby, exactly?"

It fucking figures that Duke would make him say it, as if it's Nathan's responsibility to remind Duke that he _should_ feel bad. It shouldn't take a reminder. Duke should know. Nathan wishes that he'd own up to it, already and spare him the added humiliation of telling Duke why he's so mad when those two girls are still rolling around in the grass, laughing too loudly.

Nathan's voice is sharp, a scalpel wielded by a clumsy hand, spitting "You told him we had sex."

Duke's eyebrows go higher. He laughs. "Everyone knows," Duke tells him, as if Nathan has to accept it and be happy about it. "Jesus, Nate, I didn't tell him the ins and outs, alright? He asked if we had and everyone knows, anyway. What's the big issue?"

The big issue, Nathan thinks, tears stinging in his eyes, is that everyone knows who fucked who, that Duke got everyone thinking about Nathan's body, the way it looks beneath his clothes. He's almost suffocating on the anger, it gets so big.

It was an open secret - always has been - but Nathan's been dealing with snide looks and terrible, curious questions since the two of them got there earlier tonight. Ashton was in the wrong place at the wrong time, sounding almost _innocent_ when he caught Nathan's arm in passing and asked "Crocker wears the pants, right?" and Nathan had decked him, laying him out right there on the front lawn, until Ashton got his feet under him and came at Nathan twice as hard. Another humiliation. It figures that's what he gets.

Everyone knows, Duke says. "And who's fault is that?" Nathan barks, fighting the urge to really, truly explode. It's a close thing. "Jesus, you can't keep your mouth shut, can you? Gotta make my life even harder?"

Duke's shoulders shift from a lazy slump to a defensive bristle, his eyes sharp when he counters "I was drinking!" in a too-loud voice, practically shouting it, "C'mon, what do you want me to do about it now?"

Nothing, Nathan thinks, his hands trembling. He doesn't want anything from Duke. He manages to choke words out past the lump in his throat, muttering "I want you to give a shit and to stop running your mouth, Duke! How hard is that? Put the drink down," Nathan snaps, "God, we talked about this. You drink too fucking much."

In an appeasing tone, Duke rushes to say "I'll slow down, Nate, no problem," and he places his cup delicately on the ground, like it changes anything, like it'll make coming to school on Monday less of an ordeal. Nathan laughs sharply in surprise and disbelief, because the truth is, he doesn't believe Duke. It's been a long-standing issue between them; Nathan wanting to spend time with Duke and Duke wanting to spend time with Nathan around twenty of their classmates, surrounded by alcohol, as if Duke needs it to keep on smiling.

"You say you’ll stop, but then you keep doing it!"

He doesn't mean to make Duke flinch, this time, when Nathan tries to reach out and grip him by the shoulder, wanting to shake some sense back into Duke. Duke shrinks from the touch, eyes closed in anticipation of something that never comes and Nathan's hand goes limp at his side, his own drink forgotten. Maybe he should just leave, he thinks to himself, when Duke never counters Nathan's point with anything at all - not a denial, or a promise. There's just nothing.

"Forget it," Nathan finally mumbles, "Have fun. I'm leaving."

He hears Duke try to protest, making some attempt at salvaging the situation, but it's too late; Nathan is halfway across the lawn already, prepared to walk home if he has to, despite the cold and the fact that his dad will kill him for catching Nathan drunk. Anything is better than being there, trying to decipher the expression on Duke's face that's both sorry and defensive, but Duke stays and doesn't come running and Nathan realizes, half a mile into the long trudge home, that he'd have given anything for Duke to just say sorry and mean it.


End file.
